His Prized Posession
by XxScriboLegoxX
Summary: The Collector finds a girl he wants to collect
1. Chapter 1

_**His Prized Possession**_

_Part one- _

_Chapter One: _

Margaret looked up as the bell above the door jingled. The snow had been coming down so hard for so long that she didn't think anyone would be coming into the hardware store today. Her father owned the little hardware store out of the way and only locals ever came in. When the weather got so bad they usually only had one or two customers a day. The day had been dragging on, only one person coming in just before the storm started, and so she was happily surprised when the strange man walked in. She jumped up as if to move toward him but her brother intercepted him before she had a chance and she gave him a hard glare as he winked at her. She settled back down behind the cash register, observing the tall stranger as her brother went to greet and assist him.

"Hey, how's it goin' today?" her brother asked the stranger. He turned to look at him, observed her brother silently, and then turned back around. It would normally not be strange to see a man with a thick black knit cap on his head in this weather, nor with such a thick coat and black gloves, but the fact that he did not remove his sunglasses even inside struck Margaret as odd. His reaction to her brother only seemed to add to the strangeness of this man. His cheeks were red and windblown and the snow was beginning to melt, making him glisten slightly.

"So, uh, can I help you find anything?" her bored brother asked as he followed the man to the wall. The man turned his head toward her brother just a fraction of an inch, before looking back to the wall.

"Jason," Margaret said and her brother looked at her. He raised his eyebrows at her and she shook her head, mouthing "no" to him. Jason winked and looked back at the man.

"I guess you are a hardware guy then huh?" he asked as the guy went straight to the wall with the wire cable. "Nothing better to do with your life?"

Her brother laughed nervously but the guy stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. His thick black sunglasses reflected her brother's surprised face back at him. She knew he had truly only meant it as a joke meant to make fun of both of them, not just the man, but this man obviously did not know that. Margaret grimaced at her brother's inability to tell a joke that was not rude or insulting. He apologized for any harm and backed away. The man went back to his searching and Margaret shook her head at her brother.

"Idiot," she whispered as she passed him and he shrugged. She walked over to him, hoping to supplicate the man some. In their type of business, such a small hardware store, word of mouth was everything. "Hey, sorry about my idiot brother."

The man turned his head to look at her but he did not immediately go back to his searches. He looked at her a moment and tilted his head, before he nodded slowly.

"He really does mean well. One of those people who doesn't know how to interact with people," she smiled and he paused as he reached for a pair of pliers. "Here, it looks like your getting a lot. I'll get you a basket."

She hurried over to retrieve him one and when she returned and held it out to him he placed his items inside before taking hold of the handle. He reached for a spool of wire and she was about to step away when she made a little noise. He paused and looked at her, hand not moving.

"That's technically," she raised her hands to do air quotes, "'top of the line', but this will hold more weight at higher tension. What are you looking to do with it?"

He picked up the new wire she had pointed to and examined it. He said nothing and she glanced back over her shoulder. Her brother was behind the register now, staring at her. He gave her a quick shake of the head and a shrug of his shoulders. She was about to leave when he stepped up to the razor wire and motioned to it. He looked back at her and she smiled at him, eager to help and end the monotony.

"Is it for fencing?" she asked but got no answer. "I would recommend this one if it is for safety. It's strong and could sever a digit if someone grabbed onto it," she laughed, "but it has to potential to hurt animals if they get tangled. If you live out in the wilderness and deer or whatever is around I'd recommend this one," she said and grabbed another spool, careful not to hurt herself. "if it's just to deter people. I mean, it's strong and can really do some damage, but it's not as sharp."

He grabbed the first she recommended and put it in the basket.

"Oh, and if you just want to tie someone down than those zip ties are great," she joked but her mouth went slightly dry when he reached for the black zip ties she had motioned to. She looked over to her brother to see if he had noticed it but he was scribbling something down in the ledger book. She laughed, trying to keep the slight discomfort from her voice as she spoke, "could I interest you in some duck tape as well?"

He looked at her, mouth pinching and turning downward. Slowly his head turned downward and she felt a chill run over her and her stomach turn when she came to understand, without the slightest doubt in the world, that he was slowly, openly, and without shame, checking her out. Her face turned red and she tried to pretend she didn't notice. She was pretty, not too skinny but athletic, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes, and she was used to creeps checking her out in college and back at home, but the fact that his appraisal had occurred after, perhaps an off colored, joke about duck tape, gave her the creeps.

"So… I'll be over at the checkout counter. If you have any more questions just let me know," she said and walked away. He turned his head and she could feel his eyes on her as she went back to the counter.

"Creep," she murmured to her brother as she watched him go back shopping. He began looking at tools and she looked at her brother. "I'm just going to go back to the office and sit with dad for a minute. Tell me when he leaves?"

"Sure," her brother said and she took one last glance at the man before slipping into the back of the store.

_Three weeks later_

Margaret looked over her shoulder as she slid the house key into the lock. Every time she closed the hardware store and walked home she seemed to have this strong feeling that she was being watched. It was an uneasy feeling, one that she was too embarrassed to share. Surely she was being silly. It was just because something about that man three weeks earlier had stuck with her and frightened her. After her brother had come to get her from their father's office he had told her that the man had told him to relay his thanks to her. Despite the seemingly kind words she had continued to feel put off by the whole scenario.

Now, as she gazed over the white landscape she saw nothing, not a single person in sight, but she felt eyes on her. It was dark, anyone could be hiding out there, waiting for her, watching her. She shook her head and let out a deep breath.

"Get a grip girl," she whispered and opened the front door to step inside. She was being utterly foolish. This wasn't a movie she was watching. This was real life and things like that didn't happen in real life. She entered the house and sighed, taking off her hat and scarf.

"Dad! Jason! I'm home!" she called and hung her hat and scarf up. She frowned as she noted the darkness of the house and the utter quiet. It wasn't totally strange. Her brother no doubt went out with friends on his night off and her father often went to bed early. He had not yet recovered from the death of her mother. But she had expected her brother to be in tonight and her father to be awake. He had been trying to spend as much time as possible with Jason since he would be going to college next year. She was worried about him being alone in this huge house a long, but she thought Jason would have stayed home with him tonight, especially so close to Christmas.

She hung up her coat and turned around. She went to the stairs to check on her father. Obviously no one was downstairs and she wanted to make sure that with Jason out of the house he was OK. She hoped he had eaten, but she knew that unless Jason had made it for him, he didn't.

"Dad?" she called softly as she got to the top of the stairs. "Did you eat?"

She got to his bedroom door and had her hand on the handle when she heard a creak to her right. Suddenly her ears were burning and her stomach was in knots, heart pounding in her throat painfully. She swallowed and it felt like she was swallowing knives.

_Calm down. It's an old house. It makes noises, _she told herself and let out a shaky breath. She was about to turn the handle again when she heard another creak and she whirled around.

"Jason I swear to God if you are trying to scare me I will murder you!" she called in a harsh whisper. She licked her bottom lip and waited. "Jason? Dad?"

She grabbed the handle from behind her and turned it. She stepped into the bed backward and turned to her father's bed, finding it made and untouched.

"Fuck me," she whispered and walked over to the phone on the far side of the room. She picked up the phone and brought it to her ear. She began to dial but her stomach turned when she realized that there was no dial tone and that each time she hit a button there was no sound. Her lower lip trembled and she dropped the receiver. It clattered on the floor hard and she ran to the lamp. She had thought that it would turn on. She really believed when she hit the switch it would turn on. When it didn't her stomach dropped and bile rose in her throat.

"No, no, no," she breathed. She looked around. She needed something sharp, something hard, something she could kill someone with. She couldn't find anything close to her and so she grabbed her father's favorite pen from the drawer. She considered taking the lamp, but it was far too heavy for her to carry and use adequately.

_Just get to the front door. Get outside and run, run like you're on fucking fire._

She held the pen in her right hand, raised up by her face and ready to stab if need be. She inched forward and stepped out into the hallway, listening intently, ears perked up. She struggled to listen for noises but her breathing was too heavy. She held her breath and closed her eyes listening. When she heard nothing she stepped forward and opened her eyes to find an incredibly thin line of wire spread across the landing at the level of her face. She frowned and looked up, finding only wire cable spread out in front of her. She frowned and ducked underneath the wire.

She squeezed the pen in her hand, feeling it slip in her sweaty palm. She let out a long shaky breath and moved to the stairs. She could see the front door from where she was. She felt like she was going to drop dead from the fright. Her heart pounded in her ears, her throat hurt, and she felt dizzy. She was spots and she took a step down the stairs. It creaked and she bit her bottom lip. She squeezed the pen hard and then, with a deep breath, ran down the stairs, jumping two steps at a time, and sprinted for the door.

She wrapped her hand around the handle, ready to turn it, when she felt an incredible pain shoot through her palm and she ripped her hand back. Wrapped around the handle was razor wire like they sold at the store and she knew. She looked down at her bleeding hand and looked around. She began running for the back door, the pen still in her hand. She slammed into the kitchen table and cried out, but circled around it quickly.

She reached for the back door, not even thinking if this handle also had razor wire on it or not. Even if there had been it wouldn't have mattered. She was going to open that door.

And she did.

And she almost made it too.

She reached out, ready to plant a foot onto the un-shoveled, snow covered deck, when she felt a cold, plastic feeling hand on her elbow yank her backward. She yelped as she was pulled backward and she went flying onto the floor. The backdoor was slammed shut and she heard the sound of it locking. Pain shot through her limbs from the fall and she felt the warmth of her blood pouring down her wrist.

She looked up and her fear was so powerful she could not even scream. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. He stood there, tall, looming, powerful and totally in black. His eyes seemed to glow almost green and he tilted his head to the side. She began to scramble backward, forcing herself up onto her feet. He began looming forward and she finally managed to get to her feet. She was halted by the kitchen table that no doubt already caused a bruise on her hip and she raised the pen up, body trembling. He titled his head to the side and she barely managed to make out the sight of his lips curving upward.

"I'll kill you," she said but her voice trembled. He stepped toward her and she lashed out but he was not close enough. He pretended to lurch toward her and she tried to jab again. He did that over and over again until finally he got close enough. She jabbed hard, almost making contact with him, when he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. The pain of her arm being twisted forced her to move her body around and as the pen collided with the floor her breasts were pushed up against the kitchen table.

Tears began to come to her ears as she felt him push her down on the table with only one hand. He grabbed her free wrist, the one now slicked with blood, and brought it up to rest on top of the other. Tears spilled onto the table as she tried to squirm but he was too strong. His free hand went to squeeze the back of her neck and she felt his hips press against her bottom. She could feel the hardness, the undeniable feeling of his arousal, and she readied herself to be raped. Instead she felt the hand leave the back of her neck and softly stroke her hair.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Shhhh."

"Please," she cried. "Please don't kill me."

"Shhh," he hushed her softly and gently dragged his finger tips over her cheekbone. She felt his hand slide back to her hair and he gripped her ponytail. "Sshhhh…"

She did not really have time to register the pain that engulfed her as he yanked her hair, pulling her head back. In a swift movement he shoved her head back toward her desk and her forehead slammed onto the hard surface with loud thud.

She saw spots blotting her vision and a little cry left her lips.

"Shh," he said again and her hair was yanked back again and her head slammed down. This time she felt no pain and heard no thud but saw only black.

A/N: I just saw the Collector and the Collection recently and thought I would try my hand at a story. Let me know what you think? The next chapter will still be in the house but eventually they are going to make it back to his place.

This is will be a relatively violent story and it will be dark, but it will also be a romance. So I am giving you that warning now. Please don't flame me later if you think it isn't "in character."

Thanks!

Please review?


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two:_

It did not take long for her to soak through the blindfold with her tears, and she was too afraid to be disgusted with her conduct. Growing up with only her brother and father she had always been a fan of horror movies, the gorier the better, and when she saw people's reactions she always pledged _she _would never act that way in such a situation. _She _would be proud, and brave, and strong and smart. Yet she found herself hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, blindfolded, utterly confused, cold, and struck to the bone with debilitating fear. It was raw, cold, lonely terror and she couldn't think straight.

She yanked hard at her binds but they only cut into the skin of her wrists and more tears came to her eyes. She wanted to call for her father, but she did not want whoever had done this to her to come back. Rape and murder were not things she had any intention of hastening. Instead she continued to pull on her binds hard in a desperate attempt to break through. She felt a warm trickle of blood run down her wrist as she sliced into the soft skin. The cuts on her palm seemed to have stopped bleeding and the fresh blood dripped over the crusty dry blood from before.

She tensed when she heard the creaking of a floorboard and she after an initial pause she began yanking hard. She was attached to something above her head, a beam or something, but she was fastened to it tightly. She pulled, cutting more deeply into her skin. If her toes were not just barely touching the ground she would have jumped up in order to use all her weight, but it was no use. She heard the door fly open, slamming into the wall at the side. She blubbered, yanking harder and harder, sure any moment she was about to be killed. Heavy footsteps thudded toward her quickly and she yelped as she felt gloved hands close around her wrists. The hands held her firm and she stopped struggling. Still her body trembled violently and her lips quivered.

"Shh," he whispered and one hand left her wrist so he could place a finger to her lips.

"Please," she whispered back and the hand left her lips and stroked her cheek. She felt him lean forward not because he touched her but because she could sense him. Only moments later she felt his breath on her cheek and the distinct sound of him sniffing her. For a moment it reminded her of a dog but then his sniffing slowed and he breathed in deeply and slowly. She held her breath as he did and felt his hot breath ghost over her face as he breathed out.

A hand touched her hair and she felt his breath on her as he kept his face close to hers. His breath smelled like peppermint and she had the ridiculous thought that a man, who did something like this, shouldn't have such nice smelling breath.

"Is… are my brother and father OK?" she asked between hysterical hiccups. She tried her best to keep herself under control but she was too frightened. She tugged slightly at her wrists again but paused when pain shot through the raw skin. "Are… are they alive?..." she felt him move away from her. "Please… please don't hurt them."

She listened as his heavy footsteps moved away from her and she sniffled. Only a few moments passed before there she heard a door open, a loud thud, and then the sound of her brother's scream of agony. Her heart lurched but she was overcome with relief when she realized he was alive. The screaming stopped and there was another thud and the sound of a door slamming before the man returned to her room.

"A-and my father?" she whispered and one of his hands grabbed her chin hard before another finger went to press down on her lips. There was more force this time and the grip to her chin was painful. She fell silent again and her heart pounded in her chest. After a moment his hand went to her throat and her whole body went rigid. Even the trembling stopped. There was a gentle squeeze and she took it for what it was; a warning. Still, she could not make herself keep her mouth shut. Not when the two most important people in her life were at risk.

"Please, I-I'll do whatever you say. Please don't hurt them," she breathed and his hand tightened. Fat tears rolled down her cheek and his free hand went to her blindfold. It ripped it away and the blind fold fell to the ground. Her eyes fluttered open and she found herself in the basement. It was a finished basement, the floors done with wood and carpet, and the concrete foundation was covered with wooden paneling.

It was dimly lit and her eyes struggled to adjust, but as she looked around she found her captor couched down on the balls of his feet a few yards away, his broad back to her. She could hear him rummaging through something, but her eyes were on the mask he wore. Slowly he stood and he waited, eyes wet, nose stuffed, head pounding, to see what he had in his hands. When he turned her stomach dropped and she saw the glistening of metal. She looked up to his eyes, black and glowing, and shook her head slowly.

"Please," she whispered and he stepped closer. He raised the knife toward her, pressing the point of the cold steal against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she waited to be cut but no cut came. The knife left her cheek and her eyes fluttered open again to look at him. The contacts in his eyes made it difficult to gage his attitude, but his lips curved upward and his head tilted. He reached out again, pressing the point of the knife at the top button of her work shirt. She whimpered as he pressed down and the button popped from the shirt and landed just a few inches from his black boots.

"W-what –"

She stopped as he moved the knife downward again and the second button was cut from the shirt. He made a noise, like a growl, deep, guttural and masculine, and it made her shiver.

"P-Please… I'm… I've never…"

She had said it with every intention of convincing him to stop but the next button was only cut off with more force and his tongue slipped out of his mouth to lick his bottom lip. His tongue trailed over his bottom lip slowly and he ceased his attention to the buttons of her shirt. Instead he brought the knife up and gently pushed the top of her shirt to the side to reveal her collarbone and pink lacey bra. When his tongue ceased going back and forth over his bottom lip, but instead made a whole circle around his mouth she closed her eyes. More fat tears began to fall down her cheeks.

He finished the rest of the buttons at a painfully slow pace. The knife slid over the buttons and she tried to shy away from him, but he continued to play with her. The right side of his lips curved upward as she whimpered and he gently pressed the tip of the blade into her skin. There was a little prick but nothing more and she gazed at him with wide eyes.

His intentions were quite clear. She did not see a scenario of getting through the night without being raped, but she did see a scenario in which she, her brother and father, got out of this alive. She had no reason to believe this man was connected to that vicious murder spree a few hundred miles to the south. That man had gone missing after the hotel fire and no new victims had been discovered in months. As far as she was concerned this was just a creepy guy who saw her at the hardware store, stalked her, and wanted to get his rocks off. She hoped if once he took what he wanted from her he would leave them be. The knife that was now circling around her belly button was beginning to give her doubts however.

She glanced up at her wrists as she tried to give her binds a subtle tug. She did not want him to know she was still trying to get out and become angry, especially with the feel of that sharp blade running over her abdomen and back to her breasts. The knife paused when she let out a little laugh. It was one that was inspired by irony, raw and filled with pain, but there was actual dry amusement in it as well. It was a cross between an amused laugh and crying, but her lips were curved up in a slightly dazed smile. There, keeping her wrists bound and hooked to the beam above her head were black zip ties.

* * *

><p>"They work well don't they?" she said as her big, doe eyes moved back to his. "I told you."<p>

His lips curved upward into a smile as he examined the zip ties. Usually he preferred to use sharp wire or hooks, but this one was an item best kept unmarked. Preserve the rare ones, his father told him, they always need to be preserved. She had already managed to cut herself with the zip ties, she might have cut off her wrists had he used anything stronger. And yet there was something incredibly satisfying about knowing he had bound her with zip ties she had sold to him, that she had joked about using to tie someone up.

He looked back toward her body, the blue shirt she had worn when they met hanging open to reveal a curvy but petit body, full breasts, and a pretty pink bra. His erection was almost painful, but he knew he had time to enjoy himself. There were no thieves on the premises to ruin his fun this time. He raised the knife and pressed it to her cheek, watching her eyes fill with fear and her lips tremble in more earnest.

He leaned forward, wanting to press his lips to hers, but he pulled back, pausing just a few inches from her mouth. She flinched and he blinked, observing her face closely. She had fair skin, but was not pale, and her eyes displayed more vulnerability than he had seen in a very long time, yet she tried to be strong, and he found it brought him amusement. He moved the blade so it lay flat against her cheek and tilted his head to the other side.

He patted her cheek with the blade, earning a pretty little squeak from her pretty pink lips. He liked how the steel looked against her cheek, the fear in her eyes as her body shook. He dragged the knife downward, the flat of the blade still on her skin and stopped at her belt.

He had always found more satisfaction in cutting women's clothes off than removing them. It used to cause problems when he was younger. Now they had no choice. He sliced through the belt with little trouble. He focused on her little whimpers as he watched the faux leather come apart and he began unthreading it from her belt loops.

"Will you let us go after?" she whispered to his surprise and he looked up at her. "I don't know what you look like. I wouldn't say anything."

He reached up and pressed his finger to her lips for what felt like the thousandth time. When he took it away he slowly shook his head and wagged his finger. He liked when people did what he told them. When they didn't he punished them but he did not want this girl for punishment. Though he had been slowly rebuilding the collection the fire had destroyed, he still had enough to torment. After Abby died he was in desperate need of a new play toy. And this girl, Margaret, was better than her already.

He slid the knife under the button of her black pants, watching with satisfaction as it popped off and went onto the floor. He was about to grab onto them and jerk them down when he heard the idiot boy screaming from inside the trunk. He had not killed him, only because he wanted to make it slow and the death of the father had been robbed from him already. He had walked out of the bedroom and found him in the hall, but he was so frightened he had stumbled backwards and tumbled down the stairs. He landed at the bottom with an audible snap of his neck and no movement had followed.

His head snapped to the side and turned, stalking toward the hall, ready to end the noise so he could enjoy himself. It was the girl that would be added to his budding collection. The boy he wanted dead.

"Please!" the girl screamed, voice cracking and he paused. "Please don't hurt him. I'll do anything! Don't hurt him please!"

He looked at her and brought his finger to her lips. She stopped talking but continued to gaze at him, her eyes begging when her lips could not. He enjoyed the look in her eyes for one more moment before he turned to quiet the boy. He would keep him alive for now. It might force her obedience better than torture. And he could do as he pleased with the boy, turn him into a dog perhaps. That brought a smile to his lips as he walked. The rude, sarcastic boy.

He kicked the trunk but the boy did not stop screaming or kicking and he was forced to open the drunk. As soon as he did the boy tried to jump out but he was too quick. He slammed a fist into his nose and the boys head flew back, smacking the side of the trunk hard. He fell limp and he shut the trunk again. He shoved it back into the closet and turned, ready to enjoy himself more fully with his prize.

Each step was painful as his erection pressed against the front of his cargo pants. His boots thudded but the sound was drowned out by the sound of his pounding heart. His mouth was dry again and he licked his lips. He could not get back to the room soon enough.

He turned the corner and felt his face freeze and his anger swell. He stomped into the center of the room to see how it was possible. The zip ties he knew she could not get out of and in fact he did not find the zip ties anywhere in the room. Instead he cursed himself for not being more careful. Somehow she had pulled the nail he had anchored her on right out of the wood. He waited a moment to compose himself before he began his search. She would not escape this house alive. He only hoped he found her before she stumbled on to one of his traps.

* * *

><p>AN: thank you BethI89, skycord1990 and PurpleStrawberry14 for reviewing! I really appreciate it. I hope you like the new installment and I hope everyone else does too.

Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three:_

Her escape attempt nearly turned into a very short one as she reached the top step of the basement and flung herself through the door. She felt the trip wire around her ankle but she fell forward and slammed down on the kitchen floor just as the blade fell from the ceiling and wedged itself deep into the door frame. She looked over her shoulder at it, mouth wide, heart pounding, terrified about how close she had come to death. She did not waste time gawking though. Immediately she began untangling her feet from the wire and scurried away in search for an exit or a place to hide.

She kept herself slow, doing her best to examine both the area by her feet and up by her head as she moved through the house, terrified of tripping a wire that might bring about a painful death. If anything she hoped it would be fast, but the possibility that in her quest to avoid a trap the result would be a botched murder terrified her. She did not want to lay there, agonizing on the floor, knowing death was imminent, but unable to die quickly. She moved away from the back door when she saw the large butcher knife that hung above it, and went in search of the door that led to the garage.

She heard the basement door open as she crept through the hall and her heart thudded loudly in her chest, nearly making it impossible to hear. She had never been so frightened in her entire life and it was a feeling she could not have possibly explained, no matter how hard she tried. With hands still bound, she silently cursed herself for not finding a weapon before she began her search for an exit. You always find a weapon first, she told herself. How many times had she screamed obscenities at the dumb blond bitches that didn't get a fucking knife when the killer was chasing her?

"Fuck," she whispered as she heard the heavy thudding of the man's boots. Thoughts of what he might do when he finally caught her went swimming through her head. Would he just kill her? Would he rape her and then kill her… kill her then rape her? She shuddered at the thought. No matter which course of action, she did not want to find out. She got to the door to the garage and took the open right flap of her shirt into a bound hand, lifting it away from her body, and used it to protect, if only slightly, her skin form the sharp wire that wrapped around it. She remembered as she tried to turn it, that he had bought wire just like this the day of the storm. How cruel was that irony? She wanted to scream but she knew she had to be quiet. What sort of sick man was capable of this?

She grimaced when the handle did not turn and the wire still cut into her skin through the shirt. She tried to unlock it, but even when she turned the lock and the handle turned with some difficulty, the door would not open. With her eyes now more accustomed to the dark of the room she was able to look up and see, for the most part, the new deadbolts that had been put on the door.

"How the fuck…." She whispered, looking at the amount of them. He had to have been in the house a while before she arrived to pull this off. The thought sent a tremor through her. She turned, wondering if she might be able to open a window, but stopped abruptly when she saw a dark, looming figure at the end of the hall. Halfway between them was the only doorway that lead to another room and she looked at it, trying to gauge whether she had a snowballs chance in hell to make it or not.

He stood there, shoulders broad and strong, heaving slightly as he breathed heavily, and his head tilted to the side. It was a frightening scene. And as she saw the glinting metal of his knife in combination with his looming body, glinting eyes and frightening mask, she knew she had to try. If she didn't, she'd be dead anyway. Dead and raped. She took a deep breath, glanced up toward the sky to say a silent prayer, and then pounced, throwing herself forward. He did the same, but a half second after her, and as she violently turned the corner into the dining room she felt his finger tips glancing off of her shirt.

She screamed in agony as she tripped on something and went down to her knees and then her stomach on the floor. She looked down and found what looked horrifyingly like a machete lodged into one of her shins. She felt tears come to her eyes and she yelped, reaching down for the blade, but the man was already looming over her. She screeched and kicked with her unwounded leg. The heel of her foot landed squarely between his legs and he fell to his knees, hands between in his legs, shoulders hunched.

She had heard of people being able to do amazing things in time of great strife or the adrenaline that was able to propel you forward when you otherwise thought yourself incapable, but she had never truly understood what humans were capable until that moment. Reaching forward she ripped at the machete, screams still leaving her mouth as the blade slowly grated against the bone and slid it from her leg. If she were not so high on adrenaline, she might have mused about how surprising the difficulty of pulling a blade from the body was. In the movies it seemed so easy. This seemed lodged, stuck, permanently in her body.

But finally it wrenched free and she dropped it. She pushed herself to her feet with her bound hands, limping through the house, breathing heavy, tears in her eyes, and desperately tried to find a way out. The doors seemed ill-fated and so she moved to the stairs. Planks of wood with nasty looking nails were spread about them, but by grabbing the spikes of the nails she was able to lift them up and throw them to the side. It slowed her, but did not stop her. She climbed the stairs, wondering if hiding was a possibility, if he might give up, but she knew that was stupid. He would find her. He had all the time in the world and it would only make his job easier, if slightly more annoying. She did not want to be an annoyance. She wanted to be a worthy adversary.

She got to the top of the stairs and moved toward her brother's room. His room overlooked the farmer's porch roof, and if she could get out a window, she might be able to get to safety. She could not feel the pain in her leg, but she could feel the warmth of the blood oozing from her skin and wetting her black work pants. She could never have imagined when she put on those pants this morning to work that this was how her day would end. She got to the first window of her brother's room and tried to lift it but it was locked. He usually kept his windows unlocked, even in the winter, and thinking the man might not have time to lock both she went to the other and tried. She found it locked and cried out in frustration.

She turned, looking for something she could break the window with. She went over to grab a lamp and hurled it at the window but it just bounced back at her. She let out a breathy cry of frustration and tried again. The glass cracked but did not break and she readied herself for another when she heard footsteps in the hall. She knew she didn't have the time or the strength and so she moved to her brother's drawers, praying he still had the bowie knife her father had told him to get rid of upon its discovery.

She thanked God when she found it tucked in the secret spot her brother had once shown her and turned toward the door, waiting. She had seen in movies when people would throw their knives at their attackers, as if they would suddenly become marksmen. She knew if she threw it she was done for and so she gripped it in her hands, holding it out before her. He made as if he was about to walk by the room and she was almost hopeful, but his head turned to peer inside as he walked and he paused as he saw her. He stopped in the doorway, stared at her, and to her horror and furious rage, his lips curved upward into a smile.

He reached for his belt and retrieved his own knife. Her eyes widened as she saw the size of it and she took a little step back but she still raised the knife in her trembling hands. He moved the knife from one hand to the other before settling on his right hand. She wondered if she might be able to get him to circle with her, and she could escape out of the door, but she didn't know if she could outrun him. She couldn't put any weight on her right leg. It would give out immediately and it was only then that the pain returned full force, like a violent slap across the face.

"I'll kill you," she said, voice trembling and his smile widened but it was cold and smug. He took a step toward her, into the room, and shut the door behind him. He waited and her arms trembled. She didn't know how much longer she could stand, how long her adrenaline could win out, but she knew she couldn't approach him. She needed him to make the first move or she was most certainly done for.

"Come on," she said through gritted teeth and jabbed the knife toward him through the air. "Come on."

He smirked and tilted his head, glowing eyes glinting.

"Come on, be a fucking man," she snapped in anger and his smile dropped so abruptly that it made her stomach turn. Slowly he took a step toward her and she took a step back. She groaned in pain as she shifted her wait to her hurt leg but she did not let her eyes leave him. She didn't know if she should keep goading him, hoping he would make a mistake in his anger, or try to back track. If she did fail, she did not want it to be worse for her than it had to be.

_Play it safe or all in baby_, she said to herself, _you need to make up your mind, and fast._

She didn't know if goading him would even make him angry enough to lose concentration or give him even more focus, but trying to supplicate seemed as big of a risk, with a bigger toll on her pride. He still might rape and kill her, even if she apologized and begged for her life and the lives of her brother and father, who she did believe were still in the house. If only she could get to the police. If only the doors were open. If only the phones worked.

"Big strong man huh? Scared of a woman," she said and he stood there in front of her, looming, nearly snarling, muscles trembling. His black shirt fit him not tightly but snugly and she could see he had a nice layer of muscle underneath. It was no question he could over power her fully. She would just need to get a good, fast, and deadly jab at him before he had the chance to get at her.

"Is that why you wear the mask? You're just a coward? Or are you just an ugly fuck!"

He lunged and she jabbed but she couldn't tell if she made contact as they stumbled onto the floor. The weight of him crushed her and agonizing pain shot through her shin. It had not been so deep, but the bone had been compromised and she wailed. His hand went to cover her mouth, but it closed over her nose as well, cutting off any hope she might have of obtaining oxygen for her quickly burning lungs. Tears left her eyes as she floundered in her failure.

His knee forced its way between her legs and she wailed on him with her bound wrists but it did absolutely no good. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her leg suddenly hurt more than she could comprehend. She continued to hit at him as she felt his knee rub between her lips. She had a horrifying moment of realization as she felt him press himself against him that because she told him he wasn't a man, he was going to _show _her he was a man.

But he did not move to remove her pants or bra. Instead his hand remained closed over his face, smothering her, and her brain began to turn foggy and her lungs continued to burn. She was sure she was going to die. This was it. She'd failed, but at least she wasn't going to be raped, not a live anyway. She only wished she knew was happened to her father and brother. If they were OK. She wondered if she should have tried to find them first before trying to escape. But what good could she have done? She needed to get the police and she had failed, and now she and her family were dead. The last thing she felt before her world went blank was unending shame.

* * *

><p>AN: She's not dead! Promise!

Thank you to Purplestrawberry 14, Skycord1990, BethI89, TeresaTrav, SiCoticSymphony, and Kyokkou, for your reviews! I hope you like the newest installment.

Just a heads up too, as well as violence, there will be sex... possibly violent sex... just putting that out there.

Let me know what you think? Questions, feelings, comments?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

When she next woke up she was lying on a hard surface she could not discern, and her surroundings were completely dark. She was vaguely aware that she was not in the dark though, and she felt the fabric of the black bag that covered her face against her skin. It took a few moments for the fog of confusion she found herself in to dissipate. There was always fear. It was not an experience of suddenly remembering her situation being consumed with fear after a sense of comfortable confusion. Instead it was simply a realization of the cause of the sense of impending doom.

Everything came back and suddenly. There were no holes missing. None that she could remember anyway, and she tried to think about where she possibly might be now and what she might be able to do to get out of this situation. She tried to move her arms but found the bound above her head, but this time not by the painful wrist ties, but by something that was at least wrapped in a soft fabric.

She found her feet were bound as well, and it was only when she attempted to free her legs with more force that there was blinding pain. She winced and let out a little cry, but once she stopped moving the pain once again subsided. She continued to tug on her binds, desperate to free herself before whoever it was that was doing this returned for her. She knew enough not to call out for help and so she remained silent.

As she tried to work herself free she remembered the sight of her attacker. Large, tall, and broad shouldered, cold dead eyes, the result of contacts no doubt, and a cruel smile. All other features were hidden under the frightening mask he wore to help conceal his identity and also, she could only assume, inspire terror in his victims.

Because she was alive now did not mean that she did not fear that she would eventually be murdered, but it definitely suggested to her that there were others things the man wished to do before he disposed of her. The way he had smelled her came to mind, the way he had slowly and deliberately cut out the buttons of her shirt, made it quite clear what some of those intentions may have been, but the fact that he had set up those traps had her filled to the brim with fear that torture might be a very real possibility as well. She could only hope that if it did come that, she would be strong enough to hold onto her dignity.

What she thought had been a healthy amount of fear only amplified when she heard the sound of a heavy door creaking shut mere feet to her right. Her stomach churched and a chill ran through her so deeply that she began to tremble. The fear was literally sickening. It was so bad that she was sure she was going to vomit and she titled her head to the side so she would not vomit onto her face. The door did not bang shut but it closed with a loud thud and she jumped slightly, straining her ears to hear.

Her throat hurt as she considered whether or not she should say something to her tormentor, but as she considered whether or not she should even speak, she struggled to decide how she would go about it. Should she beg him? Should she try and talk to him, try and make herself more human to him? Or should she simply be quiet and take whatever it was she was about to get? Maybe her words would do some good. Maybe he might have pity on her. But would a man capable of what she had seen really give up and let her go? Was it not better to hold onto some dignity? Or should she try and preserve her life at all means possible?

The questions raced through her brain at an unbelievable speed and by the time she heard movement on the other end of the room her lips were parting, but still no sound came out. It was not until she felt a hand on her leg that a cry left her throat and her entire body jerked to the side in an attempt to get away from it. More pain coursed through her and she bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She could feel her bra and shirt were still on her body, and she knew she was wearing her panties, but she could not feel her pants on her legs, and as she focused on it more intently, she could feel a sort of wrap or bandage where the machete type sword as cut into her. It gave her a sense of hope feeling that. He may wish to rape her, but if he spent the time to bandage her wound, why would he torture her or kill her, unless it was some sort of sick game to give her a sense of hope.

"Please," she found the whispered words leaving her lips before she could even make the decision to speak them. She could feel that he wore gloves and they slowly moved from just above her knee upward, ghosted over the skin of her thighs. "Please, don't hurt me."

The hand, surprisingly gently, pressed to her skin with slightly more force and moved downward again, stopping at her knee. The hand moved away and her heart pounded heart in her chest, so hard it literally hurt, and she could hear the pounding in her ears. There a pause, in which she was going to speak again, when the bag moved around her and then it was gently taken from her head.

It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blinding white light that suddenly bombarded her eyes, but when they did they looked up to the man dressed in black, face still covered, eyes still totally void of white. His lips curved upward as fear once again overwhelmed her and he loomed over her. Slowly his eyes moved from hers and looked down the length of her body. He had that little warped smile on his face and even with the contacts there was a menacing look in his eyes. Suddenly her words before he had finally subdued her came to mind and she felt bile once again rise in her throat.

"I…" she began and he turned his head to look at her face again but he only stared. When she said nothing he turned his back to her and walked over to a little table. The room she was in was basically empty. There were a few wracks with some cardboard boxes on them to her right, but other than that there was only the workbench he was now standing in front of. Her stomach turned as he took his time making a selection, and when he turned around and in his hand was a large knife she once again felt unexplainable terror seize her.

"No… please, please," she begged and he raised the knife. She continued to sputter until the flat side of the blade was gently placed to her lips. She fell silent but trembled more violently now. The knife was moved and he looked down to her body again, moving so he stood at about her waist instead of beside her head. The knife moved lower, gently touching the unbuttoned flap of her shirt and nudging it to the side. Her pink lacey bra was revealed to his gaze and another little smile came to his lips. The point of the knife touched her just beneath the connecting strap of her bra and he lowered it downward, gently grazing her quivering stomach, before it stopped at her pink panties.

"You don't have to do this," she said, realizing how stupid her words were once she said them. Of course he didn't have to. He _wanted _to. He seemed to emphasize this by bringing the knife lower, grazing it over her clothed vulnerability, and then sliding it down her inner thigh.

"Why are you doing this? I don't understand," she whimpered and he placed a finger to his lips. She fell silent, terrified of his wrath and waited as he brought up the knife. She let out a little cry and screwed her eyes shut when he suddenly began cutting through her work shirt. Tears fell from her eyes slowly as he ripped the fabric off of her, first in tiny strips and then all at once. The sound of the fabric tearing from her body only heightened her sense of doom, but she lay still, terrified of what a man that would do this while calm, might do when provoked.

Once the entire shirt was removed and in a pile of scraps by his black leather boots he his eyes roamed over her again, hot and animalistic, or perhaps she only imagined that, for at the same time, they were a cold void. His lips pressed together and then released, his tongue darting out to wet the dry skin. It was the look of a man totally consumed with lust, and he had every ability to act on it, seemingly without consequences. A little sound left his lips, a cross between a loud breath and a sigh, as he brought the knife back to rest on the swell of her breasts. They heaved, moving up and down as she tried to catch her breath and calm herself, but it did not good. He watched, fascinated, and leaned forward slightly, looming over her more fully.

"Please," she whimpered, looking up at him and pulling at her binds. His eyes moved up to look at her wrists and his head tilted to the side slightly. He moved away from her then and she stared at his back, broad and strong. She watched him with fear in her eyes and when he returned he had one piece of cloth bound in a ball and another in a strip. It did not take her long to figure out what it was he intended, and she did her best to pull her face to the side when he shoved the fabric into her mouth and tightened the strip around the back of her head.

She lost the ability to say anything meaningful but she prepared herself the scream the best she could the next time he tried to touch her. Instead he moved away again, rummaging through a drawer to his 'work bench'. When he turned back in his hands was a syringe. She shook her head, positive that no matter what it was he was about to inject into her, she did not want it. She shook her head rapidly, trying to wriggle free, and he stopped in front of her.

He lowered his hand to her bandaged leg and gently rested his palm there. When she continued to struggle he squeezed gently and pain rocked her once again. He tilted his head slightly and removed his hand before moving to her arms. She did not feel the pinprick, too great was the pain in her leg, but the moment the needle left her skin she felt a warmth begin to slowly move up her arms and the spread throughout her body. He reached out then and slowly removed the gag from her mouth, tossing it to the side.

He put the syringe to the side and then reached underneath the table. He must have hit some sort of lever, because the moment he did the table vegan to lower. He stopped it right around his hips, and his presence was suddenly even more imposing. If she had ever seen a predator before this was it. He was powerful, terrifying, and undoubtedly cruel.

He reached out and placed his hand on her throat. She swallowed hard, but the warmth that had now totally eradicated the pain in her limbs, had her feeling oddly resolved and at peace. Slowly his gloved hand moved downward, touching the softness of her bare flesh and stopped on the cup of her pink lacey bra.

His hand squeezed firmly this time, and though it was not enough to hurt, it was far from gentle. His tongue made another appearance, darting out to lick his upper lip and he moved his hand lower. She had fooled around with boys plenty of times. She was a pretty girl, only twenty one, and though she was still a virgin, she was not a total prude. She'd given hand jobs, a single bow job, which while she had enjoyed the act, had ended up disliking the boy she did it for, and during some of her hotter kissing sessions, had been felt up before, but it had never felt like this.

This wasn't a teenage boys fumblings, but the touch of a man that knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted, and knew he had the ability to anything he chose to. It was also the touch of a man who had a deep and powerful lust bubbling just underneath the surface. She could feel as much as his hand moved over her flat stomach and stopped at her underwear. His pointer finger slipped under the band of her panties and he dragged the finger back and forth, savoring the experience.

"Yesss," he whispered, low and throaty, like a hiss that might come from a snake or a cat. It frightened her, but there was little she could do. He removed his hand and using his left hand, pulled his right hand free of the glove.

His hand immediately went back to her breast and he groped at her for a few moments, seemingly enjoying the feel of her softness in his grip. It was when he finally brought up his finger tips and flipped the cup of her bra down to reveal her nipple that she began to struggle again, the fear and humiliation too much to let things continue. He said nothing but suddenly the feel of cold steal was pressed to her throat hard. She ceased her struggles immediately and made eye contact with him once again. His meaning was clear.

_Stop struggling or I slit your throat open_.

She did, and the knife lowered.

"Is my brother alive?" she whispered, voice cracking, too frightened to know the answer. He looked at her then, eyes sharp, but something in his body language changed. She waited, heart pounding, and he nodded once. She felt her heart explode with hope and relief, but she could not help but feel unsure. Given this man's current actions, what would stop him from lying?

"H-how… how am I supposed to know?" she whispered, whatever it was he had injected her with making her speech tired and slow. He frowned and then after a moment's pause left the room suddenly. She waited, and after an unknown amount of time he returned. It was not with her brother, as she had hoped, but instead he covered her head with a black bag and then hit under lever under the table and the table began to roll. He pushed her throat what seemed like a bunch of hallways, before the bag was finally taken from her face. She was in a dark room and could only see the single monitor in the corner.

On the monitor she could see her brother, unconscious, but with what looked like a metal collar around his throat and a chain attaching him to the wall. She saw him twitch slightly and move her head to the side, and suddenly she knew he was alive. He leaned over her, a hand gripping either side of the table, and she felt his lips come to her ear.

"Behave and he lives," he whispered, hot breath against her ear. "If you don't…."

His head moved downward and he did not finish his sentence, but he did not truly need to. It was quite clear what would happen to her if she did not behave. She let those words sink in as he inhaled against her neck, mask scratching against her skin. He reached up, a remote in his hand, and the screen went black. She felt his tongue, hot and wet, taste from her collar bone up her throat and stop just under her chin, and a terrified shiver ripped through her.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but hopefully this is worth it. Hopefully no one has a problem with him speaking. I'm not going to have him speak a lot early on, but obviously he can speak, and I think the only reason we don't hear him in the movie is because he is never in a situation in which he needs to speak. So that's my rational behind it.

And thank you all sooo much for your reviews! They really do mean a lot to me.

Let me know what you think?


End file.
